Caged Bird
by UA
Summary: The only view you've ever had is from the inside out...AU: Just Carol and Daryl, navigating life, love, and expectations. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**Caged Bird**

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 **xx1xx**

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The gymnasium locker room smelled of perfume, hairspray, and musty socks.

In short, it reeked, and the noxious mix of odors made Carol's nose wrinkle and the kaleidoscope of butterflies in her belly beat fiercely and insistently against the protective cradle of her ribs. A delicate cough tickled its way past her gloss-smudged lips, but it was quickly absorbed into the din of excitement swirling around the claustrophobic space.

Her fellow classmates were joyous, unhindered and unfazed by the magnitude of the day.

But, heartbeat by pounding heartbeat, Carol felt her own forced calm start to disintegrate. The damp fingers of panic slithered slyly across the exposed nape of her neck. Her traitorous lungs threatened to cease functioning, struggling in their movements as if pulling and dragging through a sentient sludge. She searched furtively for an escape route, finally finding one.

The bathroom was better but not by much, a retreat of last resort.

Gripping the sink with sweaty palms, Carol dragged in a deep, relaxing breath and focused on her reflection in the grimy mirror. The faint constellation of freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and nose, the cascade of crazy curls coiling into absolute uncooperativeness atop her head and threatening collapse in the choking humidity, and the teary blue turbulence of her eyes mocked her childish attempts at playing grown up. She hardly felt like a girl ready to take on the world, and it showed. Everybody would be able to see, and she closed her eyes against the inevitable pain of disappointing them all. Thanks to a couple of old friends, though, her wallowing didn't last long.

Lori tore into Carol's sanctuary, an apparitional gazelle in red high heels, her palms slapping into the door of the first bathroom stall she reached and slamming it open. Falling to her knees in a graceless heap of royal satin, she barely had time to gather her hair in her shaking fist before she was retching.

Playing her role of the ever pursuant lioness, Andrea sauntered into the room seconds later with her claws only partially retracted. "Don't tell me you and that bow-legged boy scout of yours got blitzed the night before graduation. Way to make Daddy proud."

Lori's hand abruptly left her hair to clutch desperately at the toilet, her fingers bone-white against the porcelain and tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes as she gagged and moaned.

Andrea turned from the scene with only the barest flickers of concern in her gaze, taking notice of Carol's presence for the first time. She folded her arms across her chest with a frown. "I didn't see you standing there."

"I know you didn't," Carol murmured, her soft voice laced with the bittersweet tinge of disappointment. Pushing her own worries aside, she crossed the room and nudged her way into the crowded stall with Lori, sweeping the waves of her long hair into a loose knot behind her back as her stomach continued to rebel against her. The brunette was alarmingly pale, her skin clammy and cool beneath Carol's comforting fingers. "Do you want me to get your mom?"

With the barest shake of her head, Lori disabused her of that notion. "She sent Andrea."

Carol spared a glance over her shoulder, meeting Andrea's defiant stare. Old habits really _did_ die hard; eight years later and it seemed Lori's mom was still trying to repair a friendship fractured beyond recognition.

"She looked like fucking Casper. Still does."

"Just go, Andrea," Lori pleaded miserably. She stood, leaning unconsciously into the support Carol offered. "I'm fine. Tell her it's just nerves, that's all. Nerves and the heat."

Andrea looked unconvinced, stubbornly rooted to the spot until the bathroom door opened again and Michonne stuck her head inside, her expressive dark eyes quickly taking in the tension filled scene.

"Everything okay in here?"

Every bit as obstinate as Andrea, Lori lifted her chin. "Everything's fine."

Andrea looked at Lori long and hard, _studied_ _her_ , before muttering her own reply and moving toward Michonne and the bathroom's exit with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. "Just peachy. Ra Ra Barbie just doesn't know how to handle her wine coolers." Unable to resist one last parting shot before she brushed past Michonne, she turned and smiled sweetly at the pair of them, _too_ sweetly. "Enjoy your hangover. Carol…good luck on your speech."

Michonne didn't linger much longer, giving them a heads up before disappearing in a rustle of shiny neat dreadlocks. "Five more minutes 'til we line up."

When it was just the two of them again, Lori's shoulders sagged as she moved to the sink to wash her hands. "I don't think five minutes is enough. I look like a zombie."

"I don't think zombies wear mascara. Or look like one of the members of KISS," Carol quipped, her lips twitching when Lori got her first glimpse of the raccoon rings shadowing her eyes and promptly sprayed the mirror and the tiled wall bracketing it with the water she'd been gargling. "God, I'm sorry." She laughed. "I didn't really mean to say that out loud. Really. Lori? Please say something. Ed's always telling me I should think before I speak." _Great_ , Carol thought to herself. _How_ _many_ _years_ _will it be this time before she speaks to me? "_ Lori?" she prompted again. "Aren't you going to say something?" This time her old friend didn't disappoint, erupting into a flurry of words and exaggerated hand motions.

"I can't go out there looking like this!"

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 **Usual disclaimer applies. I don't own them, and I'm not making any profit from any of these ramblings of my brain, haha.**

 **In case you haven't already figured it out, this story is AU and it will involve baby Caryl (fumbling, bumbling teen Caryl, more specifically, lol).**

 **Title for the story from the song of the same name performed by Aubrey Peeples of the television show _Nashville_. I just felt like it applied not only to Carol and Daryl in this story, but many of the others. ;)**

 **Nothing much to warn for yet but language. Other warnings will apply later, and the rating will change to reflect that. I'll give you fair warning.**

 **Chapters of this story will slowly find their way over here, but until they do, you can find the newest ones on 9L or my tumblr (finally made the leap and gone a little crazy on there, lol). Hopefully, the newest chapters of my other stories if I ever get out of this dreadful hiatus slump I'm currently drowning in. I'm shimmershae.**

 **That's it.**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**

 **Feedback is love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Caged Bird**

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 **xx2xx**

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A locker slammed shut nearby, and Daryl flinched, jerking his thumbnail from his mouth.

"Smells like Sasquatch's jock strap in here."

Daryl's fists relaxed against their smooth wooden support, and his tongue unconsciously swept across his upper lip as he lifted his squinted gaze, gathering up the salt tang pearls of sweat. The thundering hooves of unrest faded to white noise between his ears, and he dimly registered the sparkle of sly amusement in a pair of vaguely familiar pale eyes. With the slightest of nods, Daryl agreed, and the other boy slumped onto the bench beside him, his slim shoulders curling forward as he started to unknot the laces of his ratty sneakers.

"That your expert opinion, Rovia? What about you, Dixon? Care to add your two cents?"

Daryl ground his teeth and stared straight ahead, refusing to give that douche bag, Shane Walsh, the satisfaction of a response. Was what the football jock was looking for, after all, with his snarky innuendos and smartass leer. Daryl wasn't stupid, even if he gave off that impression keeping mostly to himself like he did. He had ears and he had eyes, and he was damn observant; he knew what they said about Rovia. What and who the boy did wasn't his business, though, and in spite of his upbringing, Daryl just didn't give two fucks. So he ignored Walsh. Instead of reacting, his fingers fumbled with the uncooperative buttons of his shirt, and he shoved his feet into his new ( _to_ _him_ ) boots.

Shane upped the ante in his attempts to bait Daryl into a response. "Guess you didn't get the memo, Grease Monkey. Then again, your definition of business casual might mean a little something different than the rest of ours." Leaning over into Daryl's personal space, his thick fingers flicked at the stiff collar of his rumpled shirt. "Hey, Man. I think you…yeah, you did…you left your tag on." With a superior smirk, he rolled his broad shoulders and ridiculed Daryl's secondhand wardrobe. "Guess your two cents don't really count for much."

"Suck it, Asshole," Daryl growled, his blue eyes icy and his fists clenched again at his sides as he jerked away from Shane's unwanted touch.

"Yours or his?" Shane sneered, shrugging off his best friend's hand when he tried to intervene.

"C'mon, Shane," Rick pleaded earnestly as a small crowd started to converge around them, and Rovia slipped away unnoticed. "Leave him alone."

"What we got goin' on up in here?" Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglas cast a big shadow, and his grin was all teeth as he rounded the corner and stepped between the pair of them. Tugging at his own bow tie, he nodded at the skinny piece of fabric resting against Walsh's puffed out chest. "That limp noodle you wearin' around your neck ain't doin' _you_ no favors, Man. Know what I'm sayin'?"

Shane's eyes narrowed into mean slits, and his jaw clenched. He practically vibrated with anger.

T-Dog squared his shoulders and stood his ground. "Look, don't go all Hulk on my ass. Don't ruin this day for our mamas, Man. Just clean up your own house and stay out of Dixon's alright?"

Rick braved touching his friend's shoulder again. "Shane, listen to T-Dog. Think about your scholarship."

Without a second thought, T-Dog picked up Rick's thread of reasoning and drove his point home. "You really want to risk a four year ride for a locker room brawl the day of graduation? Walk way, Man. Just do it."

To Daryl and everyone else's surprise, Shane did just that, but not without grumbling complaint, Rick following close on his heels to make sure he didn't have a last minute change of heart.

Instead of the show of gratitude he was expecting when he whirled on his heels, T-Dog was immediately met with Daryl's dark, brooding scowl, and he sighed, easing himself down on to the bench beside the taciturn redneck. "Not the show of teeth I was hoping for. You ever smile, Dixon?"

"Had it handled," Daryl grit out. "Didn't need you ridin' to my rescue like I was some kind of pussy." He'd long since decided the color of a person's skin had little to do with the kind of person they was inside, his daddy's hateful whisperings aside. No, T-Dog's defense of him didn't stick in his craw because he was black. He just didn't like other people fighting his battles for him, never had, and he was quick to make that clear.

"Ain't you heard? S'what I do on weekends. Volunteerin' and rescuin' kittens out of trees for little girls," T-Dog teased, only to be met with another deadly glare from Daryl. He sobered, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Easy, Dixon. Don't want no trouble. No trouble at all. I meant what I said 'bout my mama." Giving his bow tie another absent tug, T-Dog bravely offered up a little nugget of unsolicited advice, "Don't mind Walsh. Just ignore his horn dog ass. Ask me, that boy spends too much time thinkin' south of his belt." A pointed wiggle of his brows, and T shook his head. "Way I reckon, that don't leave much oxygen for his brain to think intelligent thoughts. He been pantin' after his best friend's girl behind his back goin' on two years now."

Daryl digested what the other boy was saying without comment. Walsh's lust for the willowy cheerleader was King County High's worst kept secret, only Grimes himself seemingly unaware of the fact. _Some_ _friend_ , Daryl thought with a grunt. The hotheaded prick had been a thorn in his side since first grade when he caught him sneaking a peek up the skirt of the prettiest, smartest girl in school, and Daryl bloodied his nose for it. Soon as Andrea Harrison found out about Walsh's peeping transgressions, she'd happily stomped and ground the heel of her shoe on Walsh's toes. Grimes' girl hadn't wasted any time rallying to the defense of Carol's virtue either, marching her long Olive Oyl legs to the teacher's desk and tattling her heart out. Once Carol got wind of things, she'd told Walsh what's what, that pretty pink rose blush of hers all but swallowing up her freckles, and then, she'd smiled gratefully at Daryl. The slimeball never bothered to spy on her no more, set his sights and sniffer on her old friend Lori some years later. That first stint in detention still ranked as the most worth it ( _even_ _if_ _Walsh_ _had_ _somehow_ _slithered_ _his_ _way_ _out_ _of_ _it)_ , and Daryl had spent more than his fair share of days in that dusty old library to know. Returning to buttoning his shirt, he did his level best to ignore his self-proclaimed savior as he continued to rattle on. He only broke his silence when Rovia reappeared, looking greatly relieved that Walsh had moved on. "Man, why you let him talk to you that way?"

The smaller boy simply shrugged and smiled. "Bigger fish, Dixon." He opened the locker in front of him, stowing his forgotten sneakers inside.

"Lot of fish in that sea," T-Dog remarked beside him, to no one in particular.

Daryl just shook his head, yanking at the collar of his shirt with a bit of a suppressed huff. "Don't _you_ start with the Confucius shit."

"I'm impressed."

T-Dog could have swallowed a coat hanger with that grin of his, and Daryl grew even more irritated. He slammed his own locker shut with more force than was necessary, but that gap-toothed smile didn't diminish at all. "Asshole."

"Back atcha, Dixon." T stood up and rocked back on his heels when Eugene poked his head around the corner.

"Five minutes until our commencement commences."

Grimes materialized beside the mullet boy genius, Walsh lurking behind him. "Time to start lining up. Dixon, T, you're up."

"After you, Ladies," Walsh smirked.

Rovia stopped Daryl from giving Walsh a physical response with a firm hand clapped over his shoulder and a whispered reminder. "Bigger fish, Dixon."

With a short nod at the boy and T-Dog, who was waiting on him to precede him, Daryl barely gave Walsh a second glance. He froze, however, when Rovia slapped a silken scrap of material in his palm.

"Almost forgot," the boy apologized. "Old Man Horvath wanted me to give you this. Some sort of graduation present or something."

Daryl looked at the tie in his hand and felt an uncomfortable knot of conflicting emotions swell in his throat.

"Three minutes," Eugene parroted somewhere behind them.

"Better get to work," Grimes told him, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "Speaking from my own miserable experience, three minutes ain't much time."

"Things can be a regular bitch to figure out," Walsh agreed. He lingered, waiting to take his place in line at the last minute.

"Two minutes, sixteen seconds," Eugene intoned blandly.

"You act like you some sort of virgin or somethin', Man." Daryl flushed a deep hue of crimson, arguably a more fiery shade than the hair on their pretty little valedictorian's head, and T-Dog chuckled. "A _neck_ - _tie_ virgin," he belatedly amended. "Time's a tickin', Dixon. You goin' to let me climb the tree to rescue you? One more time, for old times' sake?"

"Dog's got lots of experience," Walsh jeered from the end of the line. "For a church-going man."

"One minute, thirty-seven seconds," Eugene announced.

"You got a fucking stop watch or something, Porter?" Walsh barked, and snickers erupted across the room.

"You heard the man," T-Dog said. "Unless you want to wear that thing around your neck like a dog leash…"

The band started to play outside, and Daryl shoved the tie into T-Dog's hands. "Just do it."

"Thought you'd never ask, Man."

"That's what she said," Walsh howled.

Daryl lifted his middle finger in salute and started backing through the locker room as T-Dog's fingers flew into work, one thought first and foremost in his mind. What the hell had he been thinking, agreeing to this?

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